


(Un)Fortunate Timing

by DarthSuki



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cecil Has Tentacles, Desperation, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Omega Cecil, Omega Reader, Omega Verse, Smut, Submission, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 11:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17425328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: It would be manageable to get to the end of the day, it would be so manageable to let yourself just focus only on getting the next several days off from work so you could enjoy them with your fellow omega and mate–it would be so damn manageable if all you had to worry about was the feeling of heat in your veins and lust in your belly.But there’s one problem.There’s a sandstorm outside; it’s a big one, strong and likely government-created. And it’s keeping you and Cecil from leaving the damn station, going home and fucking one another until neither of you can so much as think.





	(Un)Fortunate Timing

When a heat starts to bubble up from the bottom of your belly, you’re not quite sure what’s more unbearable: the fact that you and Cecil are both fully clothed, or the fact that both of you were stuck in the radio station. 

Both aspects are absolutely dreadful to think about, an annoyance that scratches hard against your mind. Idle thoughts and intrusive desires plague your every moment though, letting your mind roll into visions of what Cecil would look like bent over the recording desk, or how good it would be to have his mouth on you. These thoughts would have been so easy to deal with if you simply had to push yourselves through the last couple hours of the workday–your heats were manageable on the first day. Cecil’s were a little less manageable, but they weren’t  _impossible_  to ignore. 

It’s mostly an annoyance that both of your heats were triggered at the same time. Likely, it was your heat that spurred on Cecil’s, but those details are useless when the two of you are simply trying to get through the day without one pulling the other down to the ground in a feverish haze of wanton need.

So yes, it would be manageable to get to the end of the day, it would be so  _manageable_  to just focus on getting the next several days off from work so you could enjoy them with your fellow omega and mate–it would be so  _damn manageable_  if all you had to worry about was the feeling of heat in your veins and lust in your belly.

But there’s one problem.

There’s a sandstorm outside; it’s a big one, strong and likely government-created. And it’s keeping you and Cecil from leaving the damn station, going home and fucking one another until  _neither of you can so much as think._

_Fuck._

* * *

 

“Cecil,” you try not to let your voice carry too much of a whine. “When did you say this thing was going to die down?”

You can’t help but stand close to him, your body hovering not even a step back from his spot at the recording desk. There’s no active broadcast going on; the station is instead being used to transmit a repeating emergency notification about the sandstorm (as well as a couple ads for the new Starbucks being opened in town, but that’s neither here nor there).

“Not until late tonight,” Cecil says, voice forlorn as he slowly glances back to meet your eyes. “We’re locked down right now so…you and me have to remain here at the station.” 

The heat between both of you is immeasurable–it takes all of your willpower not to wrap your arms around your omega mate and nuzzle into his neck.

_Cecil always did have the sweetest scent when he was an omega._

“Station management does realize that…?” You don’t need to finish the question, since the man picks up on it almost instantly; his cheeks look so warm and kissable and soft.

“They do, they know about…. _this.”_

He gestures vaguely to the both of you, hand motion unspecific but expressing plenty–it’s like the mere mention of the issue would break what walls remain of your restraint. 

Cecil takes a moment, then clears his throat to continue.

“…I mean, it’s not like there’s a camera in here or anything.”

“Cecil, there’s literally a camera right in the corner of the room.”

You look to your mate and see that his expression is blank, firm, overly serious for what you would have thought was a slip-up of memory. It’s an expression that makes your eyes narrow and instincts shift in curiosity. You catch as his eyes finally flick towards something behind you. He stares at that spot for a few moments, long enough that your eyes shift to follow his gaze.

And then you see it.

Or, well, the lack of it is more accurate.

It took a moment to see the space in the far corner of the room, a small bit of ceiling tile that’s not normally exposed. The patch is unpainted, lacking the soundproofing that the rest of the room has–and you blink.

You lean forward just a little bit to get a better view, but your chest brushes up against the back of Cecil’s head, your hands lightly over his shoulders. 

Both of you stiffen, take in a soft gasp between needing lips.

“..I swear the camera was there an hour ago,” you finally have the focus to say, letting your hands linger, shifting so that your palms are pressing over Cecil’s shoulders.

“It was,” Cecil agrees. His tone is enigmatic. He leans his head back against you, eyes closed and chest slowly rising in a breath of your mingling scents in the air. “I…took the liberty of removing it while you were on your break.”

“ _Cecil!”_

Though some part of you wants to chastise him, there’s an equal part of you that’s thrilled, almost excited by the fact that he was so willing to remove a Sheriff’s Secret Police mandated observation device with the brazenness of a horny teenager. But you can’t put much past Cecil’s raw desperation when he’s caught in the middle of a heat–when both of you are caught in the clutches of instinctual need.

He takes in another sharp breath before finally spinning the chair and slipping himself smoothly onto his feet.

“You can’t expect either of us to stand across the room from one another until this passes,” the man says, voice low, husky,  _desperate_. “I’ve been wanting you all day.” His hands find your waist and his lips find your neck, nuzzling and licking against sensitive skin. 

Oh, his scent is there, surrounding you entirely. Cecil is warm and strong and more than a little convincing in his words.

“I need you,” the omega whispers against your throat. “ _Please_. Now. Here.”

There’s but a small whisper of you that thinks to reject your mate for the sake of public decency, but the greater part can’t help but ponder the moment over with growing ease. The two of you were stuck in the station due to a raging sand storm outside, the camera in the recording room was  _conveniently out of order_ , and nobody could really blame the behavior of two mated omegas who both had kicked off their heat and were otherwise stuck in the same room together.

Really, there wasn’t much more that you could find argument with. Cecil had a rather convincing argument.

And his lips were doing rather sinful things against your bond mark, his tongue tracing invisible letters over your skin so well that the noise you make in response is barely understandable as his name.

Since the noise isn’t continued with a notion of rejection, Cecil takes the consent for what it is and presses himself even harder against your body, his hands skimming up and down the sides of your body to find the quickest way to remove them.

“You want to-”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Well let me help you then, like this-”

“You are wearing just  _too many clothes_.”

The words are tossed about between you, a rush of whispers only matched by the gentle, passionate rush of your hands as the two of you try to find the quickest way to get the other stripped down to nothing. The two of you aren’t wearing very many layers, but it’s the bits and pieces keeping those layers together that create the most annoyance; buttons, zippers, hooks–it almost makes you wish that one of you would just  _rip_  your clothes off–but even in the heat of the moment you know that would mean that one or both of you would walk out of the station in severe state of undress.

Night Vale is pretty well aware of your relationship with Cecil, but you don’t want the residents to be  _that_  privy into your sex life.

With every article of clothing dropped from your body, Cecil’s lips greet the newly-bared skin with a flourish of kisses. Each kiss is met with a shiver, an equal measure of love in how your hands skim and map out his body in turn.

“You smell so good Cece,” you feel the words fall from your lips, shirt gone and pants quickly following suit. “God, just…absolutely irresistible.”

Cecil whimpers sweetly from the compliment, his mouth lovingly pressed to the top of your belly as his hands work fervently over the belt of your pants. It’s a soft sound, muffled only by the fact that he doesn’t have the mind to lift his lips from your skin–but you can hear the desperation equal to yours in even that little noise.

One bit after another fell from your bodies until the two of you were finally naked, bare skin chilled by the cool air of the room and seeking out the warmth of one another. 

“So how do you wanna do this?”

It’s the infamous question between the two of you, particularly when Cecil was in his omega typing. He’s perfectly happy and capable of being the dominant one in the moment, but you know that’s not always what he enjoys–so it’s a familiar question on your lips, giving him the moment to decide and tell you what he wants without worrying about it.

Cecil plays with the question behind his eyes, expression soft in the moment’s you’re able to see it--when he’s not pressing needy, little kisses across your jaw.

There’s a genuine shyness to the man’s motions, but it’s certainly not without a distinct level of genuine desire--you can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard.

A moment, a breath, and then his voice against your collarbone.

“...Maybe like how we did it last month?”

The words are almost too soft to catch, but you hear the gentle shiver in them. It takes a moment for the significance to settle in your mind, past the haze of want and heat, but it leaves you feeling nervous and excited when it finally does.

“Oh,” you say, memory flickering back to the night he’s referring to. “And you want to do that  _here?_  Naughty naughty, Cece~” 

Neither of you were in heat, but you both as omegas had a certain  _need_  to satisfy and Cecil had...well, lets just say he had some unique tools to satiate that need without either of you having to play a role you didn’t want to.

“You’re one to talk about being  _naughty_ ,” Cecil chuckled, stepping backwards and tugging you along with him. “I remember the noises you made from that--you liked it just as much as I did. Still wonder if the neighbors heard us.”

Heat works even thicker across your face, his teasing just prickly enough to get a reaction through your otherwise pleasure-stricken expression. 

Well, he isn’t entirely wrong.

You take a breath in of his sugar-sweet scent and lean in to press a kiss to the man’s soft, warm throat. He hums in delicious response. Your hands find themselves on Cecil’s hips, slowly reaching back for a delightful handful of his ass--the sudden squeeze makes the man all but squeak and you with enough control between your two bodies to push him back another step until he’s pressed to the edge of the recording desk.

“What are you waiting for?” You can’t help but feel proud in the way your words drip like sweet honey. “You gotta be feeling as wet and needy as I do right now--so don’t be shy.”

You speak with the full knowledge that as soon as you say that Cecil will blush--he will get flustered and soft and lose his handle on words and how they fit together. So of course he does, looking cute in all the most perfect and imperfect of ways, even as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses your lips together finally in a kiss, needy and desperate and hot.

There’s a hum in the space around you. It’s almost as if the air itself is vibrating, buzzing like white noise. The sound sends a shiver of thrill down your spine, moreso when you feel the softest tickle against your hands where they lay against the small of Cecil’s back--a caress of something across your skin.

The touch lingers to your wrist, up your arms, and then eventually over your shoulders and down your sides. You already know what the shapes are on either side of you, but you break the kiss regardless if only to get a glance of them again.

Two long, tapered tendrils of shadow.

The sight of them sends another delightful shiver down your body, your eyes almost glittering with intrigue and arousal considering what Cecil plans on doing with them.

“Can they feel anything?” your question sounds so innocent, almost silly, but you reach out a hand anyway to caress your fingers down the length of one of the tendrils. You hadn’t thought to ask it the last time this happened, though the two of you were rather rushed and in the dark of your shared bedroom, so you feel that it’s a fair question to ask.

Your answer comes not from a verbal answer but a distinct shake of his body, an almost-surprised flinch of surprise as your fingertips trail delicately down as far as you can reach of one of the tentacle-like limbs. You can follow their length down and behind Cecil’s body, but they disappear somewhere into his back, hidden behind the shivering haze of his broken patches of glamor. 

They’re part of Cecil’s real form. You’ve glimpsed it a time or two, but it’s never been something of a  _thing_ the two of you talk about--it’s always humbling to know he trusts you enough to spoil you in these intimate moments, to see a part of him nobody else is able to.

 _Especially_ if it’s related to the two of you fucking like animals.

Because damn, if you weren’t feeling aroused before, you certainly are  _now_. There’s just something with the way the two tendrils of darkness and shadow undulate, the way they move, snaking against your body in a way that’s so powerful and inhuman--it makes you shiver to remember the kinds of things that Cecil was able to do with them just several weeks ago.

Your fingers linger over the top few inches of one of the tendrils. Cecil shivers again, lips parting to let out the sweetest moan--it’s practically orgasmic, and it certainly answers your question tenfold.

“Do you like this?”

“ _Yeee-ah_ ,” Cecil responds in a pulled whine, biting his bottom lip as your fingers wrap around the tip of the shadowy tentacle. “But I don’t--no, I want to--” he takes in a breath and gently pulls both tendrils just out of your reach. “I don’t want to cum until they’re inside us. Together.”

Together. Cecil manages to say it in such a powerful way, a tone so mixed of sweet and filthy that you find yourself looking at him with a starved look in your eyes--

And then your hands are on his hips again, fingertips just lightly digging into his skin--it’s not hard enough to leave marks (yet) but it’s more than enough to get your feelings across. Your desperation, only vaguely distracted by curious intimacy between the two of you.

Tension fills your chest as the moments tick by, your eyes caught in a trance by Cecil’s own, neither of you sure who was going to make the first move or speak the first word of it.

Hot.

Perfect.

The air thick with each of your glorious and needy scent.

And then in all the quickness of a heartbeat that moment broke, tumbling down so that both of you finally sought out the other’s lips in a feverish need. Hands reached to grab one another, to hold yourselves close and rub your bodies in ways that pushed out little whimpers between each sloppy kiss.

Somewhere in the haze of it all you can feel the indignant press of a tendril against the side of your knee until you spread your legs a little farther open. As if it has a mind of it’s own you feel the shape gently snake up between your thighs, the tip gently prodding at your entrance, playing with the slick coating the inside of your thighs. 

“ _Cecil_ -” the name is quickly lost against the man’s lips as he presses a kiss even harder against you, perhaps to muffle the sound of his own moan of your name as he likewise feels the very same pleasure.

You feel his legs spread against you, slowly letting in the pressure, the thick heat. You can feel the way his cock twitches, sandwiched between your bodies, or how his breath catches; there’s such a pleasure in knowing that those noises spill from his lips because he too is being opened up, fucking himself on his own tendril of near-formless shadow.

The tip carefully presses to your entrance again, just barely dipping inside you. Teasing. Careful. You clutch Cecil needily as your legs widen a little more, the wordless plea unsubtle and without shame.

“F-fuh-....ck,” Cecil breaths, lips against your throat, tongue pressing to your bond mark and sending delightful flashes of pleasure skittering across your skin. “You feel d-deh-...delightful.”

He tries to speak, even when overcome with heat and pleasure, even when his words are slurred and his body is shaking. Cecil’s voice is twisted over itself--you can almost hear the moment when a couple more inches of the teasing length slip inside of him. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the arch of his back, the drop of his jaw and lips pressing open-mouth, sloppy kisses over your throat.

You don’t have the moment to gently tease your lover--before you can even bring the words up and into your throat you feel the sudden, but smooth thrust of heat and pressure inside you, the tendril sliding into your needing body and opening you up in  _just_  the way your body craves.

It’s  _perfect_.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, unlike any toy or cock or--literally anything. You feel lost in a river of heat as Cecil sets his own extraneous limbs to a careful, but powerful pace, leaving both of you to needily clutch at and rut against one another in a submissive mess of want and instinct. 

“ _P-pl-please_ ,” Cecil whines against your mouth, sharing not so much a kiss as just a shared touch, a shared breathing, wanting nothing to separate your bare bodies as the two of you are fucked senselessly by Cecil’s own otherworldly forces.

You’re not entirely sure what Cecil is begging for--whether from your wanton mess of thoughts or not--but your body reacts so naturally to it regardless. Muscles gently squeeze around the tendril inside you--

And instantly Cecil lets out a cry. He says your name on a lust-laden tone, fingertips digging harder into the back of your shoulders where his hands have since moved to. You can feel how he almost melts against you, body bent and shaking against each and every thrust of his own tendril--the reaction is so beautiful that you have to wonder (perhaps with a more sober mind) if he even has a  _kink_  for this.

Because you certainly have a kink for watching this happen, watching Cecil literally fuck himself silly. Maybe you’d have to get him to do that sometime even, seduce him to lay down in the plush covers of your bed, to open up his legs, to let you watch those shadowy vines slip up his legs and around his cock and inside of him--watch as he loses all control of himself and cries out your name as if  _you’re_  the one fucking him instead.

The very thought leaves your skin abuzz with a need for  _more_. 

“Cecil,” you whisper softly, barely able to get the name out between the sharp little moans perpetuating each hard thrust inside you. “Cecil I’m--” You’re standing on your tip-toes by now, unsure whether you want to fall back into the filthy, perfect thickness inside of you or lean forward and grind yourself against Cecil’s cock. “-I’m getting f-fucking--”

“Close,” he finishes for you, the same sentiment saturating his deep, but soft voice. “So  _close_.”

A moment passes with just the two of you with your foreheads lightly pressed together, sharing the mutual experience with flaring instincts and love-smothered emotions. It feels so perfect, so warm, so close with him--two omegas sharing such a carnal feeling together, clutching at one another with a submissive need, as if to anchor yourselves to something solid as orgasm creeps ever closer in the back of your minds.

The not-so-silence breaks as Cecil breathes out, “Floor.”

He sobs, body shaking as his back arches into you again.

“Floor, now, please.”

Without giving you a moment to form a response Cecil simply drags the two of you down, rolling onto the floor with help from the excess length of the tendrils keeping the two of you from merely falling in a heap of sweat and desire.

When you open your eyes you find him hovering over you, his forehead pressed once more against yours--and you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips.

It doesn’t hinder the ability for his tendrils to press inside you. If anything, it only makes the feeling more carnal, more primal--it makes your body feel wholly like an omega, getting fucked on the floor by your powerful and wonderfully inhuman mate.

Cecil starts to rut harder and faster against you. You can vaguely see the curve of the tendril from over one of his shoulders, the way it shifts and thrusts in such a provocative, suggestive form that even though you can’t see the way it’s fucking your mate directly, the feeling of heat blooms all the same inside you. Even as an omega there is just something so  _delightful_  in experiencing, hearing, watching your mate get fucked; there’s something primitively perfect in watching his face and eyes and lips and  _everything_  respond to that pleasure.

You want to watch him more, experience more--but the crest of orgasm crawls ever closer to you, starting to crest over the very top of your mind. Desperation quickly shifts into overdrive as you scratch your fingernails down Cecil’s back and let out a drawn wail of his name--

And then it’s there, everywhere, the feeling of heat and need and desperation swirling around into one thick haze that seems to surround you entirely.

“Cecil!” You all but scream, toes curling and back arching up against him. “ _CecilCecilCecilCeee-ecil!_ ”

It’s a mantra, a chant of pleasure and devotion and love all wrapped up into one word, one group of sounds that mean everything in the world to you. Everything is so hot and tight and perfect, but even then you feel when your mate’s orgasm quickly follows after your own. 

You feel as his face presses into your throat, sobbing moans with all the same fervency and love in the shape of your own name in turn. You feel how his entire body freezes, the tendrils fucking you both through the last euphoric, heavenly moments of orgasm.

When the last drops of pleasure are all but fucked out of you, Cecil’s body practically collapses. He’s not too heavy to be uncomfortable, but he’s limp as can be, still whimpering into your throat, letting out little noises as the tendrils slowly, gently slide out from both of you. 

With a soft buzz in the air they’re gone, hidden away behind his humanoid glamor once more--but Cecil himself is there and trying to wrap his arms around you, roll you both over onto your sides and tangling his legs with your own.

Words are rather useless at this point--your minds’ are mush and your bodies are exhausted--but intimacy blooms like a rose between you both. It’s warm and joyous, this feeling of delight and satisfaction taking up the place that need and desperation had gnawed away. The two of you will likely be feeling the same way as before in just a couple hours time.

But right now?

Right now is gentle and warm, shared breaths and giggles in one another's soft, loving arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request made on my WTNV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/)


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